


Layover

by Incorporeal_Ice



Series: Clipped Wings [1]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Alcohol, Developing Relationship, Irresponsible Drinking, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incorporeal_Ice/pseuds/Incorporeal_Ice
Summary: Do you taste old shameWhen you lick my wounds?'Cause I feel redeemed in spite of you
Relationships: Fox McCloud/Wolf O'Donnell
Series: Clipped Wings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024027
Kudos: 66





	1. A Dose of Confidence and Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This segment describes intimately the sensations experienced under the influence of a benzodiazepine. Be advised.

With a pained, defeated groan, Fox McCloud heaved himself over the side of his mattress, feet hitting the floor and head in his hands. Another night of this. Tossing, turning, brows knitted.

Thinking.

He was doing a lot of that, lately. Too much. Even if could stop himself, and damn did he want to, there wasn’t much else to occupy himself with, these days.

With a shaking sigh he steeled himself, a reluctant hand reaching for his phone on the end table. Too slowly, his thumb hit the power button and his eyes begrudgingly opened.

12:45.

Wonderful.

Fox made a pathetic, frustrated sound and let the device fall to wherever on his mattress, doing the same with himself thereafter. Another restless night. The only comfort he had, being denied the gentleness of peaceful sleep, was bitterly admitting to himself he had no plans in the morning anyway.

Just like yesterday.

He regretted dispelling his ignorance about the hour immediately, as the rumination set in. This had basically been his life for the past month or so. Whittling away the daylight, dreading the night. He tried not to dwell on details and dates. Figures were already giving him enough trouble.

Fox could feel his heart sinking deep into his chest, weighted down by the cold and heavy draft of unwanted emotion.

‘Maybe tonight would be different,’ he had told himself. He would behave, practice that responsible “sleep hygiene” he was lectured with at his complaints. Then he would wake up at a proper time, greet the morning sun. Maybe make plans.

Or text his friends back.

Or leave his apartment.

Instead, there he was, staring up at the ceiling which he had become painfully acquainted with. He could almost see the reflection of his own disappointed face judging him on a white canvas. He turned onto his side, arms uselessly stretched limp before him. It felt like every night, it was getting harder and harder to bear. Yet in a way, he was becoming a little accustomed to it, which only made it hurt more. 

His eyes wandered over to the nightstand, and he could feel himself wavering. He stared, feeling the seconds turning into moments--more of this late, unforgiving evening waning away as he fought the same fight with himself.

“Oh fuck it…”

Shifting towards the edge of the bed, Fox righted himself once more. He smoothed a shaking hand over the laminate surface, feeling for the drawer in the darkness. Swallowing thickly, he pulled it open, hating himself for how easily he found what he sought. Resigned, he lifted the bottle into view, barely bringing himself to read the dosage.

“Take once daily, as needed for anxiety.”

He sighed, thumb moving to struggle with the safety lid. The audible pop of its release made him jump, the contents of the bottle rustling and clattering like jeers of judgement. With a grimace he dug down into the plastic, fumbling for a single oval per its label’s command. He gripped it too tightly on the way out, feeling the outer layer smearing on his sweaty fingertips.

On some level, he knew the shame was irrational. He would never judge anyone else the way he was himself. Not for seeking help. Even if they were forced to. Even if they felt they shouldn’t need it.

But if he was thinking rationally, he wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place. And tonight, his demons were shouting far louder than his hesitation and stigma.

So he took the plunge, wincing at the bitter taste of the outer shell mixing with the stale glass of water at his bedside. With a deep breath, he let himself fall back into the condescending embrace of his mattress, haphazardly tugging a thin blanket over himself. At least now, he could feel some sense of agency. He was doing something about this. And according to everyone around him, it was the right thing.

Fox let the notion comfort him, as he returned his efforts to keeping his eyes and his mind closed. He concentrated with all his might on making his head empty, warding off the dreaded introspection, occupying himself with his breathing and his heartbeat. It was what the therapist said. He was doing what he was told.

It would be fine.

And so, there he lay. Time continued to move around him as he stubbornly shut himself away from it, determined to at least once, get a restful night.

Before long the tension in his body seemed to unwind, his muscles going slack and his face relaxing out of a scowl. His breathing had leveled out to such a pleasing, even tempo and…

He felt really nice.

‘Maybe I should have been doing this earlier…’ Fox thought to himself, allowing his slight frame to deflate into the pillow top. He felt like he was letting everything go, the stress and unease and sadness melting out of him and dissipating to somewhere the air would carry it away.

Yet with strain gone, so were his efforts to keep his thoughts away. Uninhibited, they let themselves in to greet him.

Only now… it wasn’t so bad. It was like he could finally process everything with sudden clarity. Maybe even confidence.

Perhaps he could be constructive, this way. When he thought about how he was supposed to go grocery shopping nearly a week ago, that he was avoiding the threat of recognition and painfully excited faces and curious children, maybe he could find a solution. He could use one of those delivery services, or something. Or god willing, he could give this stuff a try. He sure didn’t care about anything, right now. In this state, people badgering him with questions and hollow praise wouldn’t be so daunting.

And then he could text his friends back. At the very least, he could contrive some sort of apology, make up plausible day to day lies or plans he had been too busy with.

In fact, maybe he could just do that right now.

With a lazy, serene smile on his face, Fox fumbled for his cellphone around the sheets, making a little satisfied noise to himself when he finally reclaimed it. His eyes squinted at the harsh light when the screen turned on, before glancing up at the right hand corner.

2:30.

Oops.

It was fine. At least he could be productive. Eagerly, he tapped on his messenger icon. He hadn’t felt this proud of himself in weeks. Maybe he should have actually considered what that psychiatrist had said, instead of being stubborn. He busied himself scrolling through chats, briefing himself on who he needed to catch up with. Who he had been ignoring.

Oh well. He could make it better.

He began making a catalogue for himself, until he reached-

‘So are we gonna talk about what happened, or…?’

An unfamiliar number from a sender that had long been painfully evident to him. Even in the oblivious euphoria, Fox suddenly felt his heart stop.

He had managed to bury this particular…subject, deep enough to not trouble him. It was probably the only thing that happened since the invasion that _wasn’t_ troubling him. His suddenly sharp eyes shot to the sent date.

Read nearly a month ago, this week.

He swallowed.

Fox’s thoughts were suddenly alight despite his medicated haze. Curiosity and caution began bickering in his head. He remembered how he had felt when he first received the message. How his pulse raced, how confusion smothered him. The mistake of a one night stand that he could only have assumed provoked it.

He had so many questions, then. How did he get his number? What could he possibly have wanted from the little that had actually happened between the two of them?

Why couldn’t he bring himself to delete the thread?

His gaze was fixed on the screen, lighting up his face in the pitch black room. He yelped when his phone automatically locked itself, scrambling to turn it back on.

Before Fox was even aware of what he was doing, he tapped. And then he typed.

“Hey.”

Transfixed, he lay deathly still. He just stared at the text, the white light of the empty space above sparse messages making his eyes burn. He was stuck in place, unable to even consider what he had just done. 

When a pulsing line of little dots appeared, it was like time finally caught up with him. His breath began to quicken, his hands shaking. It was an excruciatingly dissonant sensation to whatever this medication was doing to him, and all he could think was that he wanted out.

It felt exactly like it did over a month ago. When he, when they-

A small chime from his phone, which he had allowed to dim in his panic, made him feel like his heart was about to burst in his chest. He couldn’t believe himself, couldn’t believe-

_“Are you serious?”_

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

What did he just do? Why did he think this was a good idea, why was Wolf even awake?!

Fox squeezed the device in his hands with a death grip, palms clamming up. He had no idea what to say. He still couldn’t even fathom why he allowed himself to do this barely minutes ago. He was frozen.

He couldn’t answer, he couldn’t-

_“You’re really doing this?”_

Fuck. He hadn’t even noticed Wolf was typing. God, he was losing it.

_“Fox.”_

He had to breathe. He could feel his fatigued mind trying to weigh him back down, to return him to that wonderful cloud of safety. He just needed a moment.

Setting his phone down in his lap, Fox sat up, unnerved at how heavy his body suddenly felt. It would have been so easy to just sleep in a state like this, and instead, he…

No. He could do this. He just had to calm down. Just go back to how he was feeling before, when for whatever reason, this seemed like a good idea.

He rubbed his hands on his temples, and breathed.

“Okay…” He muttered out loud to himself, like it was the only way to stay sane in this debacle he reignited. “So you texted Wolf. And he answered. Maybe this won’t be so bad. He just wanted to talk. Probably. You can talk. You can do that.”

Feeling his heartbeat slow, his breathing returning to normal, a cool wave of calm washed over him. He could work with this. A pill might have gotten him into this mess, but it was sure as hell at least gonna get him out.

With dulled determination Fox picked his phone back up, and with as much dignity as he could muster, typed a reply.

“Sorry?”

He found himself surprised a little, when a checkmark appeared under his words as soon as they were received. The notion that someone else was unable to take their eyes off a screen, that someone else was anxious. It was oddly comforting.

_“You have got to be kidding me.”_

Fox frowned. He couldn’t say he knew what to expect. Or that he would blame anyone for reacting that way. He was basically kidding _himself_ at this point.

“Did you not _want_ me to answer?”

He felt a surge of excitement move through him at his reply. It was like some sense of familiarity with himself began to stir. His wit, his energy, was coming alive even just for this fleeting moment.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“ _After a month? At 3 am?”_

“Well. You’re up, aren’t you?”

_“You’re an asshole.”_

Fox let out a small and amused laugh to himself. He didn’t know why, but he was enjoying this for some reason. Context aside.

_“What do you want?”_

“Ditto.”

“ _I asked you that a month ago.”_

“Touché.”

He was in awe of himself. Here he was, doing something he had ignored, buried and forgotten and shut away, effortlessly. He was texting Wolf O’donnell when he couldn’t even make himself buy bread last week.

_“So…?”_

“So what.”

There was a painfully long pause. This time, however, Fox felt in control. He wasn’t anxious about the silence, or typing, or…anything.

It was empowering. He could get used to this.

“ _We fucked.”_

“We did.”

Another pause. Not as long this time, however.

“ _So that’s all you got to say?”_

“You don’t have sex with anybody?”

It felt good. Really good. He felt like himself. It was natural again, to be clever, bright, sarcastic. He was holding the cards. At this point, he didn’t even care who it was he was speaking with.

“ _Wow, you’re twisted.”_

He huffed aloud, feeling the irony of the insult.

_“You’re not just anybody.”_

Fox scowled. Even in this state of induced bliss, that sentence was enough to perturb him.

“No. I was your enemy.”

The words came out naturally to him, just like his retorts. Only now, he found himself reflecting on them in hindsight. Truth be told, he didn’t know if that really should have been past tense. He hadn’t considered it.

His statement provoked another silence. Now, however, it was awkward. Instead of waiting for Wolf to flounder for some sort of rational answer, he took a deep breath, and made a move.

“Why did you text me?”

Fox was a little taken aback when he saw a response being prepared without any hesitation. The idea crossing his mind that Wolf was already sure of his reasons made him feel something he could only describe as discomfort.

_“So you really think it would be okay to just have sex with someone you knew and disappear?”_

“We just went over this. I don’t ‘know’ you.”

He felt himself growing restless, a wave of confused emotion bubbling within him as he started to consider what this deranged man was getting at. He was stuck festering for what seemed like an eternity before he finally received another message.

_“I want to talk.”_

Fox's mouth fell open, his eyes wide as he was hit with some kind of visceral, disconcerting, shock. He had no witty come back on his tongue. No urge to shoot him down.

He somehow sensed a kind of genuine, raw honestly from a simple line of text. And he could not decide what was more ridiculous: the notion that Wolf was being sincere, or that he was believing it. Yet, here he was.

Well… what harm could it possibly do?

“Fine.”

_“Okay.”_

Fox’s brows furrowed in frustration. He expected more than just one word, despite giving the same sort of reply himself. He, at least, wasn’t the one who should have to be explaining himself.

“Well?”

_“Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather discuss this kind of shit in person.”_

Fox couldn’t stop himself from scoffing out loud.

“You’re hilarious.”

Meet up. With Wolf. Wolf O’Donnell. Right. That could only end fantastically.

He might have felt like he was going crazy, losing touch with himself. But he still had enough sense to realize that was a terrible idea.

Even if he was texting him at 3 in the morning.

_“I’m serious.”_

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you in the first place.”

It was supposed to come across as scathing. As a harsh denial to the proposal. But he couldn’t help but reflect on the obvious implications for himself.

And of course, so did Wolf.

_“Well, you are.”_

“Uuuugh,” he groaned aloud at himself, falling back into his bed. He walked right into that, and he knew it. As if he needed the absurdity of the situation rubbed in his face.

_“So?”_

Fox scowled. It was irrational, unfair even, but he was thinking back to his feelings a month ago, wishing this confusing warped bastard would just stop texting him. But, with his denial reined in by whatever the hell he just put in his body, he couldn’t help but admit it: He was the one who started all this in the first place. With his conscience nagging him, he answered as honestly as he could.

“I’ll think about it.”

There. It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t just a lie that he could hide from when he woke up. Technically, it was open ended enough he didn’t even have to text him again. Ever.

Good job, Fox.

_“Thank you.”_

So why then, did those words make his heart jump?

With a drained huff, he threw his phone dramatically down next to his pillow. He had enough. The drowsiness afflicting him was starting to become hard to ignore, and even in this affected state of mind, he could not stomach the conversation any longer.

Pointedly rolling over to face away from his phone, Fox let himself drift off to sleep with the easy, comforting thought that this might as well be someone else’s problem, now. He didn’t feel like he had to worry about it. And god, was it nice to not worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xanax. Can't live with it, can't live without it.


	2. Café au Fâcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only decision worse than texting a one night stand at 3 am, is agreeing to go out for coffee with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy enough with the interest this little endeavor picked up in its first week, so I've decided to test the waters further with another chapter. I was gonna wait a little longer, but this one was honestly easy to edit (this bitch hates editing) so I figured, why not?

“You like a lot of cream….”

“I don’t drink coffee, much.”

“Hm.”

Fox sat at the small table for two (disgusting), arms folded over his chest. His expression was a barely hidden scowl, his eyes heavy and dry. He was tired. He was irritable.

He did not want to be here.

But, Wolf O’Donnell was finally back with their drinks, balanced on quaint little saucers. He set Fox’s gingerly in front of him, and sat down with his own.

Such a gentleman.

“So…” Wolf made the first move, unsurprisingly. Fox certainly didn’t have any ice breakers in mind. No, his mind was somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

“How are things?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good.” He was surprised at how gentile Wolf was being. Or acting, at least. “And the team?”

“Hiatus.” If he hadn’t expected and prepared for that question, he would have winced. However, as much as he hated to admit it, he thought far too much about the situation he was going to be in.

“How about you?” Fox couldn’t even be bothered to sound convincing. He didn’t want to come. They both knew it. But he was the idiot who agreed to, and if there was anything left to him, there was at least integrity.

“Things have been great, actually,” Wolf seemed to brighten at the question, despite the lack of effort in its posing. “Moved into the city.”

“Really?” Fox adjusted himself, crossing his legs. His eyes were having trouble not wandering. They were forward, but they definitely weren’t focused.

“Yeah,” he continued, sipping his black coffee “we were pardoned for our efforts in the invasion, and then…”

God. So this was where he was going with things? Fox had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He perched his head on his hand, the tip of his finger moving to delicately brace the tawdry little spoon in the coffee he hadn’t even so much as looked at. He wondered if Wolf had already known about such a saccharine little café, or if he just picked somewhere on a lark.

He circled his finger around the edge of the cup, his eyes narrowing as he took in little bits and pieces of what he was hearing. So, he was all well-adjusted now. How nice.

The pirate gets to gallivant as he pleases, fight on the wrong sides his whole life, and after one arbitrary change of heart, he’s a hero. And now he was here to congratulate himself. What a nice morning-

“Hey!”

A strong fist was slammed on the small table. The coffee cup in front of him clattered, its spoon dropped and contents spilling out onto the tablecloth.

He gasped. His heart jumped, eyes stuck on the ripples in his latte.

“Are you even listening?!”

His pulse was thrumming, and he forced a shaking breath. What was that? He couldn’t care less about being caught. No, why was he-

“I-I was just trying to think about what the point of all this was supposed to be.”

The confidence in his voice was fabricated. Maybe more than the hollow pleasantries. Only now, he actually cared.

With a growl, Wolf all but crashed his cup down, somehow not hard enough to make it shatter. Fox felt himself shrinking. His stomach was sinking. What was wrong with him?

“I wanted to talk, Fox,” his voice was firm. Too earnest. It was unnerving. “Look, I respect you, and I-“

“You _respect_ me?!” Fox’s eyes snapped over to the man across from him, properly looking at him for the first time all morning. In a month. He felt fury bubbling within himself. So that was what this was really about. “What are you even talking about? You don’t _know_ anything to respect!”

Wolf threw up his hands, large frame leaning back into his chair with an angry huff. “Have you always been such a bitter little fuck?”

Fox grimaced at his words, feeling them stab right through his chest.

No. He wasn’t bitter… He wasn’t even being rude. It didn’t matter what he said. It wasn’t like this was _his_ idea.

What else could have even been expected?

His hands moved to cradle his coffee cup, thumbs nervously rubbing the sides.

“Seriously, what’s your problem?” Wolf pressed him, his form tense as if he was making an effort at restraint. “You’re always all bright eyed and bushy tailed, skipping off with medals and keys to the city after you-“

**_“Shut up!”_ **

His voice came out louder than he meant it to. His hands were gripping the porcelain too tight, his shoulders shaking. He could feel the lingering warmth radiating from the bottom.

“What do you know?” Fox snapped, reining in his voice more, some part in the back of his head reminding him they were in public. People were probably already staring.

Oh well.

If he wasn’t so angry, he’d have been surprised he actually got the result he wanted. Wolf was quiet, one eye wide, muscles uncoiling.

“So is this what you brought me here for?” Venom seeped through his words, more than he was even conscious of. “I have to listen about how the _outlaw_ gets a sunshine and rainbows happy ending, and then _you’re_ going to judge _me_?!”

“Fox…” Wolf’s voice was low, but there was an edge of a warning, as if he was about to lose his temper.

Too bad he didn’t throw the first punch.

“ _Oh Fox,”_ he lilted, doing a cloying impression of…he didn’t even know who “ _We saved the city. Shouldn't you be **happy?**_ _You're not yourself!_ _”_

He was getting too personal, now. Too vulnerable. But he wasn’t even aware of it. If he had been, it certainly wouldn’t be happening.

“God, even _you’re_ no different,” he grit his teeth, not letting the other get a word in “even Wolf O-fucking-Donnell has to _lecture me_.”

Fox could only see him out of the corner of his eye, but even then he could detect the shock written on his face. Of course, he knew who he was dealing with, and not a moment later, it dissolved into anger in return.

“You better watch it, _brat,”_ he hissed, glaring fiercely at cold eyes. “Where do you get off saying shit like that? As if a spoiled runt knows my life story.”

“I didn’t ask you for it,” Fox spat back, turning towards the window. He wanted to get out of here. They had to be making a scene. He didn’t know what was keeping him in his chair.

Maybe pride.

“I’m _trying_ to be civil!” Wolf barked at him, failing to realize the irony in his tone “I just wanted to talk!”

“Why?!” His own voice was still raised, if only to vainly keep up with louder one across from him. “What is there to even talk about? You got your happy ending. Congratulations. Let’s go home.”

“If that’s how you feel, why did you even say you would come?!”

Fox’s eyes widened. Wolf’s tone was different. Loud, but not angry. Sincere. Confused.

Hurt.

But what struck him more, were his words.

He sat up, hands sliding away from the tiny cup he was trying use as an anchor, falling into his lap. He frowned, feeling an emptiness in his chest. As hard as he tried to come up with something to save face, to fight back--

He couldn’t.

“I don’t know…”

Hearing himself gave him chills. He sounded so small and weak.

And with that, it was like the tension between them instantly vanished. Wolf’s hands balled into fists on the table flattened, the snarl on his face smoothing into a frown. Fox’s head lowered, arms moving to hold himself.

He felt disgusting.

“We should go.”

Fox nodded, as if he was defeated. He pushed his untouched coffee away from him, reaching back to grab his coat, shrugging it on as he rose to his feet.

His gaze was downcast as he followed the larger man out the door, trying not to think about the eyes that were probably on them the entire time they had made a scene. He didn’t even know how many other people were in the shop at this hour. Frankly, he didn’t want to.

“I’ll get a ride…” He murmured to himself when they hit the sidewalk, pulling out his phone.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Wolf grumbled “just let me take you home!”

Fox couldn’t even bring himself to argue. He had denied the offer to be picked up for whatever this affair was supposed to be. He didn’t need his (former?) adversary knowing his address. Now, he just couldn’t be bothered to care.

The walk to his car was silent. He let himself in, making himself as small in the passenger seat as he could, eyes falling when he felt the driver side door slam.

This was a terrible idea.

There was not a word between them on the short ride after Fox surrendered his address. There was no music on the radio. No open windows to let in the sound of passing traffic. Only the whirring of the engine dared to interrupt tension thick enough to make him feel like he was suffocating.

Fox’s eyes were fixed out the passenger window, his head listlessly leaning against the interior of the door. He couldn’t even process whatever had just happened between them. For once, his mind was quiet. And it was somehow more uncomfortable that way.

He wasn't even able to make himself feel relieved when they arrived, Wolf pulling to an abrupt stop at the curb. He made short work of getting himself out of the car, but when it came time to shut the door, he hesitated.

Fox found himself compelled to say something. He didn’t know what.

Should he apologize? Was any of that his fault? Whatever that was even supposed to be?

Instead, he pushed it closed behind himself, shoulders falling when he heard the vehicle promptly speeding off into the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You don't know me like you think you do_   
>  _You don't know I'm just as bad as you ___


	3. Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of being a sex object or just not existing, I like to use Krystal as a mom friend. She has mom friend energy.

Fox sat hunched over the small table in his kitchenette, hands folded together on the laminate surface. His eyes were stuck on his twiddling thumbs, his phone mocking him from his peripheral vision.

Those terrible, nagging, constructive words replayed in his mind.

‘Well, if you went, and you talked to him in the first place, there must be some reason, right?’

‘You feel guilty.’

‘We haven’t gone out together like this in weeks, and you decided to after that?’

‘Fox, if you want to feel better…you could stand to talk less, and listen more.’

It had all made him sink deeper into his chair. Twice this week he went out merely to be chastised.

And yet, both instances he invited it upon himself.

His friendship with Krystal could be a tumultuous one. He couldn’t imagine a better person to come to for this sort of thing (certainly not his therapist), but the way she tried to pretend not to be a ‘telepath’ or whatever it was while she gave advice, felt condescending at the best of times. He didn’t mind so much when he wasn’t troubled, at least.

And he certainly had never been troubled this much, before.

Regardless, he knew she was right. It stung, but it was what he needed.

Finally, he turned to look at the small device beckoning to him over from the corner. With a shaky breath, he reached over to take it in his hand. He didn’t know how long he had spent trying to think of what to say. How could he say anything? After everything that had happened.

After what he did.

She hadn’t told him to reach out. Didn’t even suggest it. He could tell the implication was there. Or maybe he imagined it. It didn’t matter at that point. It was the right thing to do.

As strange as admitting that felt.

Well, maybe if he just started, it would be easier.

Inhaling deep in his chest, he typed out the only words he could muster.

“I’m sorry.”

Fox set the phone down like it was a weight, exhaling hard and shoving himself away from the table. There. At least for now, he was done. He wasn’t going to stare, or wait, or worry.

No, he got up and occupied himself. Breakfast. Brunch. Whatever. He had to eat. He had to tidy up his apartment.

Adult stuff. People who actually live on the ground stuff.

And yet, even when he made the vain effort at a careless bowl of cereal that he wasn’t even hungry for, he felt his eyes glancing too frequently at his phone. Eating this early—hell, being up this early--felt like he was trying to follow some sort of script. But if nothing else, he could at least convince himself that he was functioning a little more.

Though the thought wasn’t enough to stop him from dropping everything the moment he actually got the dreaded notification of a response.

He didn’t even brace himself. Maybe it was like ripping off a bandage. Only he couldn’t actually tell if he wanted to get it over with or not.

_“Me too.”_

“Ugh!” He recoiled, squinting at the words. He didn’t know what he was expecting, or if he was even going to get an answer. But wherever this was going, he already hated it.

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

_“What?”_

He wanted to say that it was stupid. That he was making no sense, and he knew it. Whatever Wolf was trying to do, it struck a nerve.

Fox scowled. He felt terrible. He set the phone down, pinching his brows together. Why was he talking like that? Why did it bother him so much? It was so unlike the Wolf he was used to.

That he…thought he was used to.

No, he had to commit to this. He wanted to throw up, but if he was going to apologize, he was going to apologize.

He grit his teeth, steeling himself, and prepared his response.

“It was my fault. I was an asshole.”

The words felt bitter from his tongue to the ends of his fingertips. But he said them. He admitted it.

_"I get it. I was too.”_

And he couldn't even be proud of himself because Wolf had to keep saying stupid shit.

Fox grunted, feeling frustration beginning to simmer. He was getting agitated, and now, he couldn’t understand why. He wanted to tell himself it was Wolf's fault, but the notion did little to comfort him. Wracking his brain over so few words only made him more confused. 

Maybe the old bastard had a point. Perhaps text wasn’t the best way to communicate such delicate topics.

With a pained sigh, he fell back in his chair. He hated himself for what he was thinking, but he was the one who started this. He started everything in this disaster, and why he continued to do so, he could not fathom.

But maybe if he found the answer, he’d feel a little better. Or at least his conscience might.

“Do you want to try again…?”

_“What?”_

Fox groaned. Was he playing dumb, or actually that dense? Why was even just _texting_ this man such a goddamned ordeal?

“Talking.”

God, he felt like he was making a doctor’s appointment. Or maybe getting a root canal. Why was doing the ‘mature’ thing so difficult?

He watched with an impatient frown as Wolf started to type. And then stop.

And then start again.

He grew more and more irate as those little black dots moved up and down, making him squirm in a rather similar fashion. He wanted to just get this conversation over with and regret it later. What in the hell could he be saying to such a simple-

“Ah!”

The jarring sound of his ringtone nearly made him drop his phone on the table. He had to double check the lack of a contact on the flashing screen out of sheer surprise, his jaw dropping as the nagging jingle prodded him.

“What are you doing?” His surprise had quickly faded to exasperation after he answered, already dreading discovering where this was going.

_“You wanted to talk.”_

Fox's eyes narrowed at the sound of that gruff voice filtering through a cell phone. Something about it bothered him, even if he couldn’t decide how. Maybe it was because he couldn’t imagine an angry face in front of himself.

“Where’s Mister ‘old fashioned?’”

He jumped a little when he heard a scoff. Wolf wasn’t getting mad about the back talk?

“ _I thought maybe we could do things your way, this time.”_

Fox stared dumbly into space. That was a surprisingly good answer. Technically he had only wanted to text, before. Was this a compromise?

God, this was weird. But it wasn’t arguing. Or yelling.

It was better.

“Alright.”

“ _Okay.”_

Apparently it wasn’t going to be any less awkward though. Oh well.

“Well,” Fox felt his voice getting tight as he struggled to hide the tension he was feeling “what did you want to talk about?”

 _“I wanted to touch base,”_ how did Wolf still manage to sound so benign even over a phone call? Was he just imagining it because it was different?

“ _A lot’s happened.”_

He grimaced. That sentence could mean a lot of things. None of them were good on his end.

“Yes…”

 _“Well, I did all the talking last time.”_ His expression fell. He knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant. He knew he hadn’t been the most agreeable. He was beginning to understand what was bothering him about the texts.

Wolf was being far too casual about this.

It was upsetting for a reason he could not pin down, and he hated it.

“ _What about you? How have you been?”_

“It’s…complicated.”

Wolf made an affirmative sound on the other line, too quickly to be forced. What was this? He felt so confused. Why did it hurt that he was being _nice?_

This was too hard, over the phone. The longer it went on, the more he was thinking back to the caveat that made everything snowball. Maybe it really was better to just talk about it in person.

“So,” Fox forced out his words, unable to conceal the discomfort in his voice “you didn’t answer me.”

“ _When?”_

He had to stop himself from groaning, barely thinking of the fact that it would actually be heard if he did. Was this really that hard, or were they just terrible at it?

“Do you want to try again, or not?” His impatience was on full display. But whatever. His words were nice enough. He didn’t have to try to sound nice.

There was a long pause on the other end, and Fox began to bristle. If he had to spell out one more of his begrudging, cryptic attempts at civility, he really was going to lose it. He hoped for both their sakes the old man was actually trying to put two and two together on his own.

“ _I might have a better place in mind.”_

He swallowed thickly. He was more than overwhelmed at this point. The way that rough and deep voice somehow sounded happier, was not helping.

“Good,” he gritted out through his teeth “I’ll get back to you.”

_“Thanks.”_

Fox’s finger all but slammed into a red button as he pulled his phone in front of him, quicker on the draw than a life or death shootout.

Truthfully, it was near the top of the very, very long list of things he would have rather just done instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The madman doesn't have any song lyrics?! Unbelievable.


	4. Sugar on the Rim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drink to forget, don't forget to drink.

Fox felt out of place in his skin, as he scrutinized himself in the mirror. He couldn’t remember the last time he put this much effort into his appearance. Life off the ground certainly didn’t demand Sunday Best.

Thankfully, he had more of a wardrobe than he actually remembered. He hardly ever spent time in this little apartment of his, and he couldn’t form foggy images of his last trip clothes shopping. Still, he didn’t think he did too bad.

He fussed with the fit of his cardigan and dusted off his skinny jeans. It felt weird dressing up, even a little. He hadn’t exactly put care into his previous…outing. To be perfectly honest, he still wasn’t sure why he was now.

Neither Fox nor Wolf had deigned to apply a label to whatever this floundering between them was supposed to be. It wasn’t hard to guess it was vaguely attached to the mistake he made over a month ago.

He hoped Wolf at least had some idea what he was doing. Although frankly, it wouldn’t be surprising if he hadn’t.

At least for himself, his intuition was compelling him to prepare in the way he was. With what little he had to work with, the only answer he could posit for how he should treat this evening was a weak one, but also painfully poignant.

He felt like he was getting ready for a date.

The admission made him shudder. It wasn’t even terribly surprising of a conclusion, if he had stopped to think about it. Wolf was clearly angling at something like this with their last meet up. Maybe he was when he sent those texts. Before now, Fox was doing his damndest to keep such thoughts out of his mind. Really, any thoughts pertaining to the situation. Or the present. Or the two of them.

But tonight, he was going to face it all head on. At least that was what he had been telling himself all day. He was terrified, but as much as he hated to admit it, all this nonsense with Wolf was the only thing he had actually _done_ in weeks. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he was going nowhere before now.

Now, he was going out. And he was not going to think about what could go wrong. If he could help it.

So, he was actually a little thankful when his phone ringing snapped him out of his rumination. Even if he was more startled than he should have been.

Another thing to repress…

“Yes?” He murmured, tucking the device into his chin as he made an effort at fixing the styling he had just ruined with jerking movements.

“ _I’m in the lobby.”_

“You’re early.” He frowned, pushing down the thought that he was aggravated because he was in fact, not ready.

“ _Do you need more time dolling up?”_

And no. Not like that.

He scowled as if Wolf could actually see it. After making another vain pass over himself in the mirror, he decided he wasn’t going to get any more satisfied with how he looked, and hung up. He couldn’t be bothered forming a response to…whatever that was.

Fox paused briefly at the door, taking a deep breath. He fidgeted with the buttons down his front, smoothed out the cuffs of his sleeves, and steeled himself for an anxious elevator ride.

He took too long stepping out of the open doors when he finally finished his descent. He stood still just outside the lift, arms crossed, mouth in a slant as he scanned the scarce lobby to the complex.

Sadly, he couldn’t miss Wolf in a crowd if there was one. He certainly was. Big.

His hesitation to walk up to his ‘date’ did nothing to buy him time. The foyer was sparse, and despite his own unassuming appearance, it didn’t take long for a single eye scanning the area to lock onto him. A searching expression changed to a wry smile, and he felt his heart skip as he was approached.

“I said I would meet you outside,” the attempt to sound stand offish was forced. But truly, it was the only comfort he had for himself and his nerves.

“Well, maybe I wanted to walk you to the car.” Not that Wolf seemed to mind. He hated how sure of himself he sounded. Lord, he was flirting, wasn’t he?

At least one of them didn’t seem to find all of this awkward. He couldn’t decide if that was an improvement or not.

They would both find out, he supposed.

“Fine,” Fox answered, resigned “lead the way, then.”

And then he grinned, evidently too pleased with himself. Seeing this side of a grizzled pirate was getting more difficult to process as time went on. Which only made him more antsy when instead of ‘escorting him out,’ Wolf seemed to pause. And give him an appraisal.

This just couldn’t get any better.

“You look nice.”

Oh. He was not ready for that. Especially when this giant of a man looked away from him in a manner that could only be described as bashful.

Why was the heat in here turned up so high?

Fox couldn’t help himself from looking the other over in return, despite his eagerness to break the sudden tension. A typical leather jacket, a too tight grey sweater with a collar dipping dangerously low, drawing his eyes to a sterling silver chain--all tied together with handsome dress shoes.

Damn, he cleaned up nice.

“You too…”

“Thanks.”

At least now he knew he didn’t put in too much effort. He couldn’t say it wasn’t among his many anxieties for the night.

This was unreal. While he had been trying to keep expectations for the evening out of his mind, it was already playing out unlike anything he imagined. He certainly hadn’t pictured something like the start of a clumsy date from his academy years. 

The only way it could have gotten worse (if this was supposed to bad, he wasn’t sure,) was if Wolf had grabbed his hand when they finally, _finally_ made their move to exit the building. Thankfully, he was spared the gesture.

They had only just met up, and it was already far too romantic. And he was pretty sure he didn’t even know what romance was. It was too late to turn back now, though. Probably.

The walk to the parking garage was quiet, a reprieve from the uncomfortable pleasantries. He grounded himself with the cool autumn air on his cheeks, letting it fill his lungs. It reminded him of the downtime he actually enjoyed, the brief breaks that were peaceful, although cut short by his own hands.

It must have been what brought the faintest shadow of a smile to his face, though he didn’t realize it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Fox felt his heart quickening a little when they reached Wolf’s car. It was a lot more expensive looking than he recalled. Although despite how much it pained him to admit it, he wasn’t exactly paying attention to…anything, last they met.

He really must be doing quite well for himself.

Fox slid himself into the passenger side with a composing breath. It was awfully low to the ground, though he supposed most overpriced vehicles were. He didn’t really understand the point. Corneria had good enough public transport. He wondered how often Wolf had actually driven before getting a place here. Or how he got his big self into this thing.

He made himself comfortable as his driver hefted himself in, the car shifting with his weight. Even the inside looked expensive, sleek meters and buttons he couldn’t recognize compared to an aircraft. As he fumbled with the seatbelt, he caught a waft of something that made him pause. Wolf was wearing cologne.

God, the guy really was committed to this. A feeling of shame washed over him when the notion brought a flush to his cheeks, making him sink into the heated passenger seat. He was in over his head.

“So…” Fox spoke hesitantly, if only to distract himself. He could look at his phone, but that would do little to quell the unease plaguing him “tell me about where we’re going.”

“It’s nice,” Wolf answered, eyes dutifully on the road. Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed they left. “I think you’ll like it.”

Why did they both have to be awful at smalltalk?

“That’s good…”

He felt himself dying a little when all he got back was an affirmative hum. Silence it is, then.

Rather than beat the dead horse of conversation, Fox busied himself with a listless gaze out the window. Traffic was minimal at this hour, so he could watch the city lights blur in a way that was oddly soothing. He hadn’t been out at night much. Or at all. Corneria really was a beautiful place. And he had been shut away from it his whole stay, this month…

But it wasn’t too late to change that.

Thankfully their destination apparently wasn’t too far, and before the quiet between them could become any more unbearable, the car was pulling to a stop on a side street. His eyes glanced up at the exterior of the building, looking it over as if he was preparing himself to face some kind of adversary.

_Okay, Fox. You can do this. It’s a bar. Bars are fine. They have alcohol. Alcohol is better than coffee. Probably especially so with Wolf._

With a deep breath, Fox grabbed onto the passenger door handle, pulling it open and stumbling his way out. He looked out onto the city streets behind them as Wolf attended to his car, a hand holding his wrist twisting over his sleeve. He was tempted to go in first, anxious to get on with things. Maybe get some liquid courage. But he didn’t know the place, and he certainly had no idea what to do once they made it inside.

So instead, he waited restlessly for Wolf to heave himself out of that cramped little vehicle and walk up to him, a small grin on his face.

Why did he have to smile so much?

“Well, are we going in or not?” Fox crossed his arms, more than impatient by this point.

“After you,” Wolf replied, wasting no time slipping past to open the door. His face fell into an unamused, open mouthed scowl. He had to be joking.

“How gentile,” he rolled his eyes as he huffed his way by, glaring out into the bar as he was met with a pleased snicker. He must think he’s so suave. Disgusting.

Expectantly, he waited for Wolf to follow behind him so he could lead them to wherever this sure to be wonderful evening would be unfolding, pointedly avoiding whatever satisfied look he must have been wearing.

He missed the arguing already.

Fox let his eyes wander as they made their way to the bar, taking in empty tables and mostly unoccupied stools. The place was actually a lot bigger on the inside, with low lighting and subdued music.

Wow. It actually _was_ nice. Certainly more toned down than what he would have imagined a bar downtown to be.

He couldn’t help but imagine the place at happy hour, maybe on a weekend. Here, on a quiet Monday night, it probably could not be more ideal for the situation. The total opposite of the coffee shop affair.

The old man really was playing his cards right. Damn.

He got them two barstools at the far-flung corner of the counter, away from the taps and the few patrons there. Privacy was definitely not what he had anticipated from an outing to a bar. He previously comforted himself with the thought that hopefully, at least somebody else would be having a worse conversation than they would be. Bartenders had to be used to that sort of thing, right?

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth,” Wolf commented as he shrugged off his jacket, making Fox snap his eyes back to his margarita when that snug sweater stretched over defined pectorals.

“I like things that don’t taste bad,” he deadpanned, taking a pointed sip.

“Heh.”

“The drinks here are pretty good,” Fox observed, helping himself to more, licking the sugar off his lips as discreetly as he could manage. Of course, the other’s choice in drink didn’t escape him. A lowball of scotch on the rocks. Typical.

“Yeah.”

“Do you…come here a lot?” He asked, attempting to keep the conversation going. He was starting to wonder if Wolf was this succinct with everyone in a casual setting, thinking back to how much he would blow up the communication line when they were-

Okay not a good train of thought. More margarita.

“I’ve been trying to find new places,” he answered after his first sip. How did he take that straight?

Good for him.

Well his own drink was good conversation, at least. Really good, actually. Was this strawberry? He hadn’t specified.

“So,” Wolf turned to him, starting with a deep exhale.

Oh no.

“Look, about last week-“

“Stop,” Fox interrupted him, voice tired. He lowered his glass, sugar crystals falling into the already scarce liquid at the bottom.

“Let’s just…not talk about it.”

“Yeah,” Wolf sighed, large frame relaxing with apparent relief, “you’re right.” He punctuated with another small hit of scotch. Is that how you’re _supposed_ to drink the stuff?

“Thanks for giving me another chance, anyway.”

“Uh huh…” Fox replied, exasperated. Did they not just agree to drop it?

He was already out of margarita.

“Then I’ll just cut to the chase.”

Oh good. There was a chase. And he was cutting to it.

Exciting.

“I know you’ve been feelin’…” Wolf hesitated, Fox’s shoulders tensing before he even finished his sentence, “down.”

He had never been so happy to see a Whiskey Sour in his life.

He lifted the small, decorated glass to his lips, opting not to acknowledge the statement that stung more than the mixer.

Did they accidently give him a double?

“I get it,” Fox’s eyes were locked onto his drink when Wolf continued to speak, suddenly aware of the warmth in his cheeks. “I remember how hard it was.”

He sounded so earnest, but soft. It was so strange. And what he was saying... Fox was trying to tune out the words, but somehow the alcohol was actually making it more difficult.

Didn’t stop him from taking another swing, though.

“I know what you’re going through.” He elaborated, as if it was necessary to repeat himself.

“Yeah…”

The answer was dull. Forced. His tail was swishing uncomfortably behind him. His eyelids were low, hands cupping his glass.

“I wish I had someone who could be there for me when I was your age,” Wolf sounded almost somber. And painfully sincere.

“I have a therapist,” he murmured dryly, followed by another third of his drink.

“You’re going too fast,” a concerned gaze lingered on an emptying cup.

Fox scoffed, his shoulders hefting with rolled eyes, blocking out the nearly untouched glass of scotch adjacent to him.

“Alright, dad.”

He chose to ignore the frustrated grunt that earned him, but managed to resist the urge to down the rest in spite.

He had to be civil, he told himself.

“Someone who _understands.”_ Wolf stressed, reiterating his previous point.

That time, he couldn’t stop himself. His throat burned, eyes stinging a little with the effort. He let out a shaking breath as he set the empty glass back down.

He needed to stop making sense, and he needed to do it now.

“Is that what this is about?” Fox tilted his head back when he posed the question, as if trying to compose himself.

“What?”

“Are you asking me out on dates because you pity me?”

Even with his eyes stuck on the wine glasses hanging above him, he could still feel the wince he provoked. Followed by a hit of disgusting scotch.

Apparently, his tequila sunrise order was enough to break the uncomfortable silence that followed.

Unfortunate.

“You really should slow down…”

“Do you want to keep talking, or not?”

Okay. Maybe being civil was hard.

With a deep breath, he lifted his goblet, steeling himself with a satisfying swig. Delicious. Man, he had to come back here sometime.

“I can’t just forget everything that’s happened,” Fox felt so detached from those words as he spoke them. It was easy to say things like that in this state. He wondered if that was the reason Wolf chose a bar this time, even despite his present nagging.

“I know,” he sounded so dejected. Which was actually painful to listen to.

The alcohol content in this one didn’t taste _too_ high. And it had vitamin c. Even if his stomach was starting to burn. Maybe he should have had something to eat before he left. Well, even if he had thought of that, Wolf was early anyway.

So there.

“Fox,” he jumped at a hand on his shoulder, tugging slightly and urging him to turn to his right. “Look…”

Oh.

He saw a violet eye staring into his own, jaw tightened with sincerity and hopefulness. A palm flattened over his forearm gently.

His heart began to pound, hand slipping away from his drink and off the counter to hang at his side. His mouth fell open, dulled eyes widening with suddenly clarity.

“I want to get to know you better.”

The room around him stopped as he took in the request. He didn’t know what was keeping him from turning away, that earnest expression paralyzing him as his answer was awaited.

Suddenly, as if from the effort of moving, he felt all those warnings coming to fruition. He was dizzy, sick to his stomach. If not for the strong hand on him, he may have stumbled in his chair.

The sheer magnitude of such a simple, innocent plea, harmless and genuine and safe, felt like it was going to destroy him. His addled thoughts were racing, trudging through the dullness trying to pull them down.

His emotions were fighting against the tide of alcohol he had inundated his system with, the substance that was helping him cope with the situation backfiring horrendously. He did not have the willpower or the sobriety to fully consider the consequences of those words. But the freedom in them, the open-endedness and comforting distance so carefully posed, compelled him to answer with his instincts.

“Okay…”

Or maybe it was the alcohol.

Fox immediately felt embarrassed, the flush in his cheeks intensifying to an unbearable degree. Wow, he sounded stupid. Were his hands shaking?

Apparently Wolf was satisfied enough with the answer, his rigid frame practically deflating, hand sliding lower down Fox’s arm as he relaxed into his seat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah…”

His voice was so small. Yet somehow he felt better, his embarrassment abating with the reaction to his reply.

“Damn,” Wolf huffed, a grin returning to his lips. For the first time all night, he actually felt some kind of comfort from seeing him smile. “You really don’t make this easy, you know?”

Fox made an uncomfortable sound, eyes glancing over to his tequila sunrise with temptation.

As if he was following his gaze, Wolf cleared his throat.

“I think that’s enough for tonight, yeah?” He punctuated by downing his own drink. Hypocrite. “Why don’t we get outta here?”

“That’s… probably a good idea,” Fox murmured, setting a hand on his temple. When did his head start hurting?

He looked over to Wolf, watching him pull his jacket back on and step off his barstool, rising to his full height next to him. Sitting down, it really drew attention to the difference in their stature…

Or maybe it was the drinks.

Speaking of, with a resigned and responsible sigh, he pushed his glass away from himself, pinching his brow as Wolf went off to see to the tab. His head was throbbing as he waited for him to come back. He could taste the alcohol on his shallow breathing. Maybe he really had gone too far.

“Alright,” he craned his head back up as he was spoken to, “we’re good to go.”

He hummed in response, setting his hands on the counter as he prepared to right himself. Damn, moving was hard. He knew as soon as his feet touched the floor, even before he put his weight on them, it was a bad idea. But he also didn’t have a choice other than to try.

Unsurprisingly, with a pathetic yelp he stumbled away from the bar, arms flailing for purchase as he prepared to fall on his face.

“Hey!”

Instead, he was met with a sure grip and quick reflexes. Though they could have just been regular, sober reflexes for all he knew. When his mind caught up to him, he felt a steadying grasp on each arm, wobbliness in his legs, and something very firm and warm under his cheek.

Oh.

“You alright?”

Feeling that gruff, baritone voice vibrating against him made Fox shudder. Even before he looked up, he could feel a concerned gaze burning through him, hotter than the alcohol coursing in his system.

And against his better judgement, he turned his head--eyes slowly moving from the outline of a solid chest, a low cut collar, and a strong jaw.

Fox's heart was thrumming. He took in an uneven breath, getting a potent hit of cologne. He smelled like sandalwood and warmth and happiness.

“Let’s go back to your place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Never felt this sensation_   
>  _Kiss to every **scar**_   
>  _Eclipse my expectation_   
>  _Shock to my **heart**_


End file.
